


Tell Me Again

by oakleaf_bearer



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Kissing, M/M, Memory Loss, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), Temporary Amnesia, jon only remembers to episode 26
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:29:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26616724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oakleaf_bearer/pseuds/oakleaf_bearer
Summary: jon wakes up one morning with no idea where he is or why he's in bed with martin blackwood
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 305
Kudos: 774





	1. Chapter 1

Jon woke up slowly. The room came into gradual focus as he opened his eyes blearily, blinking past the sleep. 

In the dim light of the early morning, his room looked strange. Like the furniture and decorations weren't his own. Like the pile of clothes in the corner didn't belong to him. Like the window was in the wrong place. 

He shifted, shutting his eyes again, and buried his face in the pillow. It smelt of dust. Internally, he made a note to wash his bedding when he got back from the Institute. 

As he moved, the blanket on top of him settled, pressing down on him. He hugged it closer, pulling it into his chest. 

It was firmer than he had expected, with a strange lump at the end, right where it connected with his chest. 

A frown spread across his face. He pulled it back, inspecting it through his sleepy eyes. 

It wasn't shaped like his blanket. It had five appendages sprouting from a wider part. As he dug his thumb into the centre, it twitched, and the appendages flexed and wrapped around his hand. 

As they did so, the blanket behind him shifted, and a presence drew closer to his back, a small huff of air ghosted it's way across his neck. 

"Wha-"

"That's just my hand, Jon. It's not going to bite." A sleepy voice whispered in his ear. 

Jon blinked. The hand wrapped around his own gave a gentle squeeze. The hand. Connected to the arm draped across his middle, which in turn was likely connected to a person, currently tucked up close against his back. 

Jon thrashed. He let go of the hand, flinging it away from him, and rolled away. He was closer to the edge of the bed than expected, and he tumbled to the ground. His knees met solid wood rather than the soft carpet of his own bedroom. 

"Jon? Are you okay?" 

Jon scrambled backwards, his legs still tangled in the blanket. 

A desperate sickness clawed its way up his throat. He'd been in bed, clearly not in his own flat, with a stranger wrapped around him. There were very few things that could've led up to that situation, and Jon didn't want to consider which it was. He didn't want to think about what this person had done to him. 

The unknown assailant climbed off the bed, holding out a hand like they were trying to calm a frightened animal. 

"Jon? Can you hear me?" 

Something about the voice twigged something in Jon's head. It was familiar. Somehow, that made him feel worse. 

"Jon?"

Jon gasped, a sob bubbling just inside his lungs. "Martin?"

"It's me. Hey. Did you have a nightmare?"

Martin crouched in front of Jon, and reached his hand towards his knee. 

"Don't touch me." Jon flinched away from him, his back hitting the wall. 

Martin held up his hands. "Okay, that's okay." 

"Where are we?"

"Daisy's safe-house, in Scotland." 

Daisy? Safe-house? Scotland?

Jon shrank back against the wall. Martin's silhouette was dark against the early morning glow leaking in through the think curtains. He was hunched over, hands placed carefully on his thighs as he crouched a short distance from Jon. Jon couldn't quite make out his expression without his glasses, and the shadows creeping around them didn't make it any easier. 

As if sensing his thoughts, Martin slowly stood. "I'm going to turn the light on." He said carefully as Jon nudged further away from him. 

He watched Martin's shadow as he crossed back over to the bed and flicked on the lamp. 

The sudden illumination made it easier to see Martin. He was, thankfully, clothed, in a scruffy old t-shirt and boxer shorts. Jon watched as he pulled the blanket off the bed and came back to crouch next to wear he was huddled. 

"Here, you don't want to get cold." 

Jon considered pushing his hand away, but the chill was slowly seeping through his pyjamas. Cautiously, he sat forward, careful to not let his hand touch Martin's as he took it. He felt Martin watch him as he wrapped it around his shoulders and settle back into his space against the wall. 

"Did you have a nightmare?"

Jon scoffed. "I think I'm still having one. What the hell is going on, Martin?" 

Martin frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You don't notice anything strange? Anything out of the ordinary?"

"I mean, we usually sleep later than this, but I imagine you couldn't control that." His tone was forcefully light. 

We.  We. 

The sick feeling returned to Jon's throat. He desperately tried to keep his voice level as he fought past the rush in his ears and the pounding of his heart. 

"Martin, if this is some kind of, of power thing, a- a way of getting back at me, then please, I don't-"

"Power? Jon, what's going on?"

"That's what I'm trying to work out." He said slowly. "I know I haven't been the best to you, but-" 

Martin held up a hand, shuffling closer slightly. "Jon, stop. What's the last thing you remember?" 

Jon blinked at him. The last thing he remembered? "I was taking Sasha's statement about her run in with that Michael thing." 

Martin gaped at him. "Sasha? Jon, that was years ago!" 

"What? No, it was- What?" 

"Do you remember Prentiss?"

"You were attacked by her, that's why you're staying in the archives. Which isn't where we are now." 

Had Martin slipped something into his tea? Taken him somewhere? He'd mentioned a safe-house, was this his way of hiding out from Prentiss? Why take Jon? 

"Jon," Martin breathed. "Oh, Jon." 

His hand hovered inches away from Jon. He stared at him, eyes wide and filled with such an indescribable anguish Jon had to look away. 

"Martin, please," Jon whispered into the air between them. "I don't understand." 

"Jon, all of that happened years ago. It's 2018." 

Jon shook his head. "No- That's impossible, I-" 

"Jon, it's okay, we'll work this out." 

"Martin, if this is a trick or something, please, you don't have to do this."

Martin flinched. "Jon, do you think I-" He shifted back, moving out of Jon's space. "Jon, I would never, I promise. I would never, will never do anything you didn't want me to do." 

Jon fixed his eyes on the bed. It was clearly set up for two, with two bedside tables each with their own lamps and stacks of books. It looked the picture of domesticity and coziness and Jon wanted to vomit. 

"Why are we here?" 

Martin gave him the same heartbroken look. He stood. "Do you want breakfast?" 

Jon blinked at him. 

"You need to eat, Jon. It'll be easier to take everything in." He held out a hand. "I promise I won't poison anything." 

Jon stared at his hand, head reeling. 

Martin sighed, a fond, exasperated sound. "That was a joke. Come on, I promise I'll explain everything after we've eaten." 


	2. Chapter 2

Martin pattered around the kitchen, fighting down the rising panic in his stomach. Jon had asked to take a shower, and Martin was certain Jon intended to spend at least five minutes before the shower rifling through every cupboard and behind all the bottles of shampoo and body wash on the shelves before he was satisfied that Martin hadn't hidden any cameras or anything to spy on him. The thought made Martin feel a bit sick. 

The way Jon had stared at him, quietly begging him to not hurt him, to let him go... Martin shuddered. Jon had been clear about his boundaries when they had started dating, and Martin had respected them always. He never crossed any line without Jon explicitly and enthusiastically saying that he wanted it. He was more than content with slow make out sessions on the sofa leading to a night of cuddling under the covers, both fully dressed with nothing left unspoken or resented between them. He'd never thought he would get to have Jon, and he didn't need anything more than that. 

A small crash came from the bathroom. 

Martin was out of the kitchen and down the hallway quicker than he would've thought possible. 

"Jon, what happened? Are you alright?" 

There was a quite whimper from inside the bathroom. 

"Jon, can you open the door?"

A long pause followed Martin's words. 

"What the hell happened to me?"

The scars. Martin wanted to kick himself. How could he forget that Jon wouldn't remember his scars. 

"Oh, Jon." He leant forward, letting his head thump gently against the door. "Jon, I'm so sorry."

"There's so many."

"I know. I know." 

There was a shuffling sound and a shadow passed across the bottom of the door. Martin realised it was Jon, slumping down by the door. 

"How did all of this happen?"

Martin sank down the other side of the door. Only a few inches of wood separated them, and Martin wanted to claw his way through it and pull Jon into his arms. He wanted to bundle him up and kiss the knot of worry out of his forehead. Damn the world, for letting this happen to Jon. Damn Elias, or Jonah, damn the archives, damn all of it. 

"Martin. Are you there?"

"I'm here, Jon." Always, forever, from now until the end, I'm here, I'm here, I'm here. 

"I think I'd like breakfast now."

"Of course."

Martin moved away from the door, pushing himself to his feet. It swung open slowly, revealing Jon, hunched and sweaty with panic, tension laced through every line of his body. He stared up at Martin. 

Some of the scars across his arms were scratched red, small droplets of blood seeping out of the edges. 

"Jon..."

"I didn't think they were real. I needed to check." 

Martin forced himself to meet Jon's eyes. He didn't do it much. Jon's stare was often too heavy to hold for long. 

But right now, Martin never wanted to look away. 

"Breakfast." Martin said, before his foolish heart had a chance to betray him. 

-

"Before we start, I want to make something clear." Martin put the mug of tea in front of Jon. "Above all else, I want to make sure you're okay. If I say anything that's too much for you, just tell me. We can stop and pick this up another time or just drop it entirely." He gave him a level look. "I mean it, Jon. None of this is fun to talk about, especially when you're sort of hearing it for the first time." 

Jon nodded. "I'll bear that in mind." 

Martin looked him over once. "Alright. So, you remember up to Sasha's run in with Michael?"

Jon nodded. 

"Okay, so the first major thing would be Prentiss."

Martin talked him through the events of Prentiss' attack, starting with the whole Jon made in the wall of his office. 

Throughout the story, Martin watched Jon slowly deflate, fingers tracing the edges of his scars. 

At the mention of Gertrude's body, Jon flinched. 

"How did she die?"

"Gunshot wound. Three of them."

Jon frowned, confused. "She was shot?"

Martin nodded. "When you found out, it wasn't great. You thought someone might try to kill you too. You became paranoid and thought we were after you."

"And were you?"

"No." Martin said. "None of us wanted to hurt you."

Jon was quiet for a long moment, staring down at the worm scars on the backs of his hands. When he next spoke, it was so quiet that Martin almost missed it. "Did we ever find out who killed her?"

"Jon..."

"Did we?" Jon stared at him, a hard look in his eyes. 

Martin sighed. It was going to come up at some point anyway. "Yes. Elias."

Jon flinched so hard he knocked his mug. It tipped over, sending tea all across the table. 

Martin leapt up, snatching up the mug, catching it before too much tea was spilt. Jon reached out with trembling fingers to try and help, but Martin batted him away. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't- let me." 

"It's alright Jon, it's okay. Careful, it's hot."

" _ Elias _ ." He breathed. "Why would he- Why?" 

"He's not who we thought he was. He's Jonah Magnus."

Martin had moved the mug far enough away that it wasn't a repeated causality as Jon flinched for a second time. 

"Jonah Magnus? Martin, what are you on about? How could Elias possibly be _Jonah Magnus_?" 

"He's been body swapping for centuries. He was James Wright, and now he's Elias."

"Body swapping. Martin, this is all insane." 

Martin sighed. "I know, Jon, I've been living it."

"How could Elias- Jonah, whatever- have been body swapping? That's impossible."

"Don't pretend to be a skeptic, Jon. I know you're not." 

Jon seemed so startled by how forceful Martin's words were that Martin almost laughed. Of course Jon was surprised. To him, Martin was a meek archival assistant. Martin felt a small rush of pride at the realisation of how much he had changed. 

"Jon," He said, a little more gently. "I've seen you face insane horrors and barely blink because it doesn't come close to what happened to you when you were a kid. Please don't pretend to be a skeptic, because we both know it isn't true."

Jon's eyes widened. "I told you about that?"

"You did. You told me about a lot of things. I told you things too." Martin fetched the kitchen roll to start mopping up the spilt tea. "You trust me, Jon."

"Right." Jon gave him a heavy look. "So, after Prentiss, what happened?"

Martin took a deep breath. This wouldn't be pleasant. 

-

Several hours later, Martin had finished filling Jon in on everything, carefully answering any questions he asked. 

By the end, Jon felt exhausted. Finding out he had forgotten the last few years was bad enough, realising exactly what he had forgotten had tipped the scales into insanity. 

"So, that's it." Martin tapped a hand against the table gently. 

"Fucking _hell_ , Martin." 

"Yeah." He sighed. "It's been a long few years."

"But, Sasha. And Tim. I saw them only yesterday."

Martin shook his head. "You didn't. You saw them years ago. It's just us now, Jon." 

Jon straightened up. "You said we all forgot Sasha. But if I can't remember the last few years, is it possible I remember the real one? The actual Sasha?"

Martin considered it. "Maybe? What did she look like?"

"Straight hair down to her shoulders, blue eyes, wore a lot of green-" Before Jon finished, Martin was shaking his head.

"I'm sorry Jon, that's the version I remember."

"So she's just gone?" He curled his hand into a fist, the scars across his knuckles stretching. 

Martin placed a hand on top of his. "I really am sorry."

"You keep saying that. It's not your fault. None of this is your fault, you don't need to apologise." 

Martin huffed a laugh. "Things really must have changed. You, telling me I don't need to apologise for something?" 

Jon stared up at him. "Martin, I'm so sorry. I was so cruel to you, it was completely unnecessary."

"Jon, it's fine. Really. We've talked about it before, there's nothing to apologise for now." 

"Still, I-"

"Jon."

They stared at each other for a long minute. Eventually, Jon conceded. 

"Fine. If you'll let me apologise for one last thing."

Martin glared at him, a little fondness seeping into the edges of the expression. "What?"

"I'm sorry I spilt the tea earlier."

Martin tried to fight down a laugh and failed. It bubbled up out of him, a bright, clear giggle that filled Jon's ears. Jon felt himself smile back. 

Oh. 

_Oh_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen, 'oh' in italics is a good, good trope, i will not apologise 
> 
> and i know martin says 'i'm sorry' a lot in this chapter, that's just me projecting


	3. Chapter 3

Jon knew he was staring, but he didn't think Martin cared. Or at least, Martin hadn't told him to stop. 

It was just that Martin didn't make any sense. He was a nuisance, an annoying persistence around the archives, a bumbling, clumsy burden that Jon had to make do with. 

Except that wasn't quite true, was it? Jon's immediate dislike of the man, fuelled by the incident with the dog, had come with the subtle twinge of curiosity. The realisation that Martin was, in a word, charming, had been an unwelcome one. His work ethic was terrible. His reports were sloppy and unprofessional. Jon suspected his offers of tea were a ruse to avoid working. 

And yet, here he was, in a cottage in the Scottish highlands, existing in a peaceful, content orbit with Jon. If anything, Jon was now the one getting in the way. Whatever easy system they had devised before he lost his memory was now shattered, with muscle memory alone not being enough to drag him into the steps of their strange dance. Whenever he misstepped, Martin would smile and apologise, accept fault like any of it was his to accept. 

It was strange.

And so, Jon was staring. 

Trying to decipher the mystery that was Martin Blackwood. 

"I can feel you staring."

Jon quickly looked back to his book, blushing. "Sorry." He mumbled. 

Martin chuckled. "It's okay, Jon. I'm used to it. What's on your mind?" He turned so he was facing Jon, resting his elbow on the armrest of the sofa. 

Jon sighed and closed his book. "I'm just thinking about the Archives. All of the things that were happening, right under our noses. It feels impossible that we didn't notice." 

"We didn't know to look. It's not your fault, Jon."

Jon frowned. "I didn't say-"

"You were thinking it. I know you, remember? You had the look you get whenever you're blaming yourself for something that isn't your fault."

Jon went quiet. This quiet twinge of familiarity was strange. Jon guessed they'd had this talk plenty of times. He couldn't imagine how painful that must be for Martin, to have to repeat things and reopen old wounds. 

"See, that look."

"What?"

"That's the look. You were doing it just then."

"No I wasn't."

"You were." Martin stood from the sofa and went over to the kitchen table. "Your nose gets all scrunched up and forehead does this little thing right here." He pointed to the centre of his own forehead. 

Jon raised a hand and rubbed that spot. "I don't. Stop it." 

Martin grinned at him. 

How had Jon ever disliked him? 

"So, what do we usually do to pass the time here?" Jon sat back, desperately trying to quell his train of thought. 

"Well, theres no tv, so we read a lot." Martin sat back too. " We cook a bit, but that's mostly at dinner time." We go on a lot of walks. Just around the local area, across the fields and stuff. There's one trail that goes right to the top of the hill, it's got amazing views."

"That sounds lovely."

"It really is."

"Would you mind... showing me?" 

Martin visibly perked up. "Of course! I mean, no I wouldn't mind, of course I'll show you- Oh, you know what I mean. Do you want to go now?"

Jon looked at the clock above the mantel. "Will we have enough time?" 

"It's only about 45 minutes to get there, and the walk back is quicker." Martin looked so excited. "We'll be back in time to make dinner."

"If you're sure."

"I am."

Jon gave him a small smile. "Good, yes. Good. I'll, uh, I'll get my coat." 

-

Martin was right, the trail was quite nice. It took them longer than 45 minutes because Martin kept stopping to point it things he thought were interesting. Including, Jon noted, a field full of 'good cows'. Martin had smiled when he said it like it was some sort of private joke. 

Eventually, they reached the top of the hill. Martin led him around a corner and the. suddenly Jon was staring across the Scottish highlands. 

The view was staggering. Rolling green hills giving way to mountains. Below them, Jon could see the lazy trail of a river, glistening in the early evening light. 

"Woah."

Martin stepped up behind him, their shoulders bumping. "Yeah." He pointed to a small cluster of buildings in the distance. "That's the village. We don't live too far from that." 

Jon felt himself smiling. "

Jon tore his eyes away from the view to look up at Martin. "Thank you for bringing me here." 

Martin glanced down at him. "No problem. You really like it here."

He looked back. "I do."

_ Keep it professional, Sims. You're his boss.  _

Except Jon wasn't his boss. Not here, hundreds of miles away from the Institute. Not after running away, just the two of them, to a cottage in the middle of nowhere. Jon was certain they were way past professional now. 

The thought made Jon cry. 

The tears slipped down his face unbidden. 

"Martin, I'm so sorry."

Martin made a small, distressed noise. He put a hand on Jon's shoulder. "What for?"

"All of this. You don't deserve this." 

"Jon, look at me."

Jon looked. 

"This isn't your fault. None of this is your fault, do you understand? Something, someone did this to you, and we are going to figure it out together. I don't care how long it takes, I don't care if we are here for days or weeks trying to get to the bottom of this, but I promise, I'm here to stay." He trailed off slightly. "You came back for me, it's the least I can do." 

Jon gaped at him slightly. "Martin, I- I don't know what to say." 

"You don't need to say anything, Jon. You might be the omniscient one, but I know you enough to know that you would do the same for me." 

Jon shuddered as a gust of cold air blew through him. 

"Come here." Martin held out an arm. 

Hesitantly, Jon stepped closer, letting Martin wrap the arm around his shoulders.

He laughed slightly. "I never wear a warm enough coat for this."

"No, you don't." Martin's smile was audible. 

It wasn't until late that night, after Jon had fought Martin for the sofa and lost, being sent to sleep in the bed upon Martin's insistence and much shushing of protests, that Jon realised that there's no way he could've known that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you've never seen a picture of the scottish highlands before, look it up   
> you'll never know peace again 
> 
> this was inspired by my own experiences in the welsh highlands, where i looked over the valley and started crying bc it was so beautiful


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> slight warnings:  
> -discussions of jon's scars  
> -references to a minor depressive episode from jon  
> -tooth rotting cuteness

Jon had been suspiciously quiet all day. He'd only mumbled slightly through the door when Martin knocked to offer him some tea. 

It made the corners of Martins mouth tug upwards a little. It was strangely reminiscent of back before everything had happened. 

Martin felt guilty about how much that pleased him. 

Jon was clearly not doing well. Their walk yesterday had been nice, until Jon had gone strangely quiet on the walk home. He'd only spoken to argue that Martin should take the bed, which Martin had shut down quickly enough. Jon clearly needed space, but Martin was still wearing the pyjamas he wore last night, and it was nearly midday at this point. He needed to get some clothes from the dresser, and then Jon could go back to ignoring him. 

"Jon?"

Martin knocked on the door again. 

There was no response. Sighing, Martin gently pushed open the door. 

Jon was curled on the floor in front of the tall mirror, shirtless.

"Jon?"

Jon ignored him, tracing a finger over the thin line of the scar across his neck. 

"Jon, are you alright?"

"It doesn't feel real."

"I know." Martin stepped into the bedroom.

"How did you get used to this? How did this become normal?"

Martin sighed and sat down on the bed. "Honestly, Jon, I forgot what normal was." 

Jon met his eyes in the mirror. "And this is the new normal? Pain and heartache."

"I suppose so."

"And us?"

Martin frowned. "What?"

"Me and you. I saw the bed, we were sleeping together." He said, then immediately flushed and buried his face in his hands. "Well, sleeping as in, you know, not- well, maybe- not like that, but-"

Martin stood and crossed over to the mirror. He knelt and pulled Jon's hands away from his face. "It's okay, it's okay. I know what you meant. We don't, by the way. Not like that." 

It was Jon's turn to frown. "You mean..."

"We've never had sex. We sleep in the same bed, but that's it. We've only been dating for a couple of weeks." 

Jon blinked at him. "So we are dating?" 

Martin huffed a small laugh. "Yes Jon, we are dating." 

Jon gave him a weak smile. "How did I manage that?"

Martin looked down at him. "What?"

"Look at you, Martin. Look at me. I'm hardly the best suited to relationships, and you could do much better than me." 

"What? Jon, are you an idiot?" 

Jon shut his mouth with an audible click. 

"Sorry, that was- No, actually, I mean it. You're an idiot."

"Excuse me?"

"Jon, I know you can't remember anything right now, but I haven't exactly been subtle." Martin shifted so he was sitting properly on the floor. "I care about you. A lot. I tried to stop, tried to push you away and stop thinking about you all the time, but I couldn't. Everything I did when I worked for Lukas was done with some tiny voice in the back of my head saying 'This is for Jon, all of this is for him'. And then suddenly you were there and you pulled me out of the Lonely. Jon, I care about you so much. I love you." 

Not quite the way Martin had expected to say it for the first time, but Jon didn't need to know that. 

Jon stared at him, big beautiful eyes full of an unreadable light. His jaw worked for a moment and his fingers fidgeted with the edge of Martin's sleeve. 

"Thank you." His voice was so quiet. "I wish I could say it back-"

"You don't need to. It's fine." Martin traced a finger over the scar on Jon's palm. 

Jon hummed gently. "Martin-" 

Martin glanced up at him. "Yes?"

Jon tapped a slightly erratic rhythm against Martin's arm. "Can I- Would-" He sighed. "Can I do something?"

"Oh, uh, yeah. Go ahead." 

Jon shifted closer. Then shifted back. He chewed on his lip slightly. Martin smiled fondly. 

"Jon-"

Jon kissed him. 

Martin let out a small squeak. 

Jon was hesitant, cautious, a little too stiff for it to be considered a good kiss, but Martin felt himself melt. 

Jon pulled back slightly. "Is this okay?"

Martin kissed him again. 

Jon smiled slightly against his lips and slid his hands into Martin's hair, mussing the curls. Martin pushed forward slightly, then pulled back, hissing slightly as something dug into his foot. 

"Ouch."

"You okay?" 

"Yeah, just a splinter. This floor isn't the best." 

Jon chuckled lightly. "We should probably get off the floor. Bed?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

Jon scoffed and gently slapped his arm. "Not like that."

"I know." Martin said through his grin. 

They sprawled on the bed, a few careful inches left between them. 

Jon rolled towards him, watching him with a lazy smile. "I like this."

"I know you do."

He propped himself up on a elbow above Martin. "How's your splinter?"

"Manageable." Martin traced the same line Jon had earlier, right across the scar on his neck. "Are you okay?" 

Are you okay with this, with us, with Scotland and the archives and Jonah Magnus? Martin wasn't sure which one he meant. 

"I'll be fine. How did I get that one?" 

"Daisy held a knife to your throat."

"The same Daisy that owns this cottage?"

"Yup. You two became friends, I think. Sort of had a trial by fire."

"With the coffin?"

Martin nodded. 

"What about this one?" Jon took Martins hand and moved it to a small scar on his shoulder. 

"Melanie, in the archives, with a scalpel. You were removing a cursed bullet from her leg and she woke up. Wasn't pleased." 

Jon grimaced a little. "I can't imagine she was. These?"

Martin ran his hands down a line of small round scars. "Those were Prentiss. The worms got to you when she attacked the archives."

"That's why there's so many of them."

"Right."

Jon rolled back into his back and held up his arm. "This one?"

"That one was Michael. He stabbed you, I think. At the time you told me it was an accident with a bread knife, despite us not having a bread knife in the archives. I took you to A&E and you had to get stitches."

"Sorry I put you through that."

"I just wish you'd told me the truth." 

Martin reached up and took Jon's hand. "This one was Jude Perry. You made the mistake of accepting a handshake from her."

Jon hummed. "I'll make a note to not shake the hands of any more wax women."

Martin barked a quiet laugh. "Thanks." 

Jon shifted closer and lay his head on Martin's shoulder. "Thank you for staying with me. I'm sorry you had to see me go through all of this." 

"I won't say it was fun, but I would never leave you behind. You didn't leave me." 

Jon's hand closed around Martin's. Martin gave it a light squeeze, and pressed a kiss to the top of Jon's head. 

They stayed like that for a long time, until Martin became aware of a small nagging thought at the back of his mind. 

"Jon?"

Jon startled slightly. Martin guessed he'd been dozing off. "Mmm?"

"How did you know Jude was made from wax?" 

"What?" Jon pushed himself up, rubbing his eyes. 

"Jude Perry. You said you were going to make note to not shake hands with any wax women. I don't even think I told you about her, so how did you know that?"

Jon frowned. "I- I don't know. I just- I guess I remembered it?" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jonny: tma is a tragedy  
> me: hehe fluff machine go brrr
> 
> jon said hot martin rights 
> 
> if any artists want to draw the kiss in front of the mirror, then i will love you forever 
> 
> also, this has references to about 3 wips i have squirrelled away, so who knows, maybe i'll post them at some point


	5. Chapter 5

Knowing that Jon was remembering things was worse than when he remembered nothing at all.

Before, Martin could power through and pretend everything was fine, but now it felt like they were on a timer, just waiting for the other shoe to drop and Jon to finally remember the final little detail that made everything okay again. 

Still, Martin was patient. He'd waited for Jon before. He could do it again. 

They were back to kissing. That was fun. 

Every new nugget of information that Jon remembered bought a small sense of giddy glee, and Jon was terrible at hiding it. 

He'd cornered Martin when he was doing the washing up, wrapping his arms around him from behind and whispering 'You're not a ghost' over and over again until Martin remembered hiding in document storage with him during Prentiss's attack. They had been in the gardens, with Martin pulling up weeds and handing them to Jon to put in the bin, and Jon had suddenly knelt to kiss his cheek, whispering about the Unknowing. Once, Jon had even come in when Martin was in the shower to excitedly tell him about the cows they had seen on the way up to Scotland. 

They fell back into their rhythm bit by bit. Jon was still a little clunky and awkward, but he was getting used to it. Martin remembered the first few weeks they had spent in the cottage, when Jon had been shockingly clingy. It had been a slight overload for Martin, freshly out of the Lonely and with a years worth of physical contact to catch up on. He'd once asked Jon why he liked to touch him so much. He'd blushed and looked embarrassed, like he'd just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and explained that it helped him to feel that Martin was okay and present and not about to vanish into mist. 

This felt very much like that. Jon would hover near him, asking questions, about Martin, about the village, about the archives. Martin felt like he was being followed by a particularly curious child. 

Martin took him to the village one day, and watched the way he awkwardly nodded through a conversation with the lady at the shop, politely agreeing with her observations on the weather as she scanned their items a little too slowly, before taking him to the pub by the river and treating them both to a mid afternoon pint. 

Jon sipped it, watching the ducks on the river gently bob by. "This is your favourite spot in the village." 

Martin glanced up at him. "It is. Your favourite is-"

"By the tree in the park, the one with the bench dedicated to the soldier. I remember." 

Jon still kissed like it was a novelty. He would often break away with a loopy smile and a murmured 'wow'. He would stroke his hands through Martin's hair and tug him down for a kiss like he was doing it just for the sake of it, just to see if he still could. One lazy make out session on the sofa had led to Jon sitting back, flushed and grinning like a child on Christmas, saying "I've not kissed anyone like that since Georgie."

Martin laughed. "Yes you have." 

"Who?" Jon frowned, trying to remember.

Martin looped his arms around him and tugged him back down, coaxing him to lay down on Martin's chest. "Me, dummy."

"Oh," Jon gazed at him like he couldn't believe his eyes. "Right."

The night had ended with them both curled up on the bed, hands gripping the others shirt, faces inches apart. 

-

The first thing Martin was aware of was the fact that his morning breath was terrible. 

The second was the Jon's was too. 

The third was that he knew Jon's morning breath was terrible because Jon was pressing frantic little kisses to his face, hands fluttering through Martin's hair. 

"Wha-" 

"Martin." Jon moved back a bit to give Martin room to roll over and blink groggily at the ceiling. 

"Wha timb issit?" He raised a hand to brush sleep out of his eyes.

"Six. I'm sorry I woke you, it's just-" Jon buried his face in Martin's shoulder. 

"What?" Martin brushed a hand up his back. "Jon, whats up?"

Jon shuddered slightly, clutching at Martin with tight fists. He let out a shaky breath, and Martin suddenly realised he was crying.

"Jon, what's wrong? Jon, look at me." Martin pushed himself up to sit on the bed, wrapping his arms around where Jon lay huddled. "Was it a nightmare?" 

"No." Came the small reply. 

"Then what? What can I do?"

"Nothing. Everything." Jon peeked up at him, "Just be you, Martin." He pushed himself up to sit level with Martin. "My Martin. My beautiful, brilliant, caring Martin. The Martin that does so much for me even when I don't deserve it. Even when I forget how much I love him." 

Jon brushed Martin's curls out of his face with a trembling hand. 

"I love you. I love you, Martin. Martin K Blackwood." 

"Jon..." 

"I remember. Everything. Absolutely everything. Including," Jon grinned, a little manic. "the fact that I am madly in love with you and for some reason have never told you that fact." 

Martin blinked at him, feeling himself start to smile. "Oh, Jon."

"I love you." Jon said it like he was amazed at it. 

"I love you too." Martin leant forward and pressed their foreheads together. 

"I know." Jon laughed, wetly. "Martin, why would you say it for the first time while I couldn't even remember liking you back?"

"Says the guy who said it for the first time at," Martin leant round Jon to squint that the alarm clock. "6:17 in the morning after waking me up by crying on me." 

"After remembering how much I love you after a whole week of having no idea! I think this is quite romantic."

"It would be more romantic if we both didn't reek and I didn't need the toilet quite desperately, but sure, this is good enough." 

Jon snorted. "I apologise. I'll take it back until I can say it again at a more convenient time. Would you like to go back to bed now?" 

Martin shoved his shoulder. Jon lost balance and tumbled back, pulling Martin with him. They landed in a bit of a heap, legs tangled together, faces inches apart. 

"Hello Martin." Jon mumbled. 

"Hello Jon." Martin kissed at his jawline gently. "I love you." 

"I love you too. I wasn't joking, I will say it again. And again and again and again until you're sick of hearing it." 

"I don't think I ever will be. And I wasn't joking either." 

Jon cocked his head to the side as well as he could while pressed against the pillow. "About what?" 

"We both stink. I'm going to go brush my teeth and have a shower since someone," Martin kissed Jon's forehead. "decided to wake me up this early."

Jon chuckled as Martin rolled off the bed and padded towards the bathroom. "Sorry. I just got excited."

"I know." Martin turned on the bathroom light and looked back at Jon, illuminated by the fluorescent glow. "So it's over? You remember everything?" 

"I think so. There might be a few pieces that still need to fall into place, but I remember enough now."

"What caused it?"

Jon sighed and wriggled back so he was propped up against the headboard. "A mixture of things, really. A little bit Spiral, a little bit Stranger. A little bit of the Web as well, just for good measure. It shouldn't be a problem now, the Eye didn't particularly like being undermined like that." 

"Trading one horror for a soup of them." 

"And then back to one. I am sorry you went through all of this, Martin." 

Martin shook his head. "I'm just glad you're okay, Jon." 

Jon smiled. "I've missed you. Even when I didn't know it, I missed you." 

Jon kept his promise. He told Martin he loved him over breakfast, lunch, lazy cuddles on the sofa, a long walk through the nearby fields, constant reminders that they were okay again, back to their strange little domestic normality, that he actively, deliberately _loved_ him. 

Martin found he was never sick of hearing it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oak said stinky smooches for the archivist 
> 
> i try to be lighthearted in my notes, but i need to get a little bit serious for a bit  
> one of the people i live with has just tested positive for covid. i'm not showing any symptoms atm, but i am struggling a bit with my mental health in relation to my situation. in addition to this, wales is going into lockdown, so i can't go back home to visit my family after we come out of quarantine  
> i'll be sharing a more in depth update on my instagram, but for now pls don't worry about me, i'm doing fine physically
> 
> i recently plucked up the courage to ask my crush out and she said yes, so i am actually in a good place emotionally, even if long distance sucks ass 
> 
> this fic has been amazing fun to write, and i cannot wait to share my next project with you all 
> 
> love you all so so much  
> oak xx

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on instagram @statement_boo_gins or on tumblr @oakleaf--bearer or @illbefunnylater 
> 
> comments and kudos keep me writing, pls leave some


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